Here be Monsters
by Sagella
Summary: "You will stop fighting one another. You should be glad the Fates saw it fit to grant you a wish at the same time." And with that, she disappeared, leaving a furious mermaid, a soaked Frenchman, and a bewildered Spaniard in her wake.   France/Fem!UK/Spain
1. The Chase

This is set in ye olden pyrate tymes, has heavy fantasy use, and I'm going to guess that the little history I throw in there in inaccurate. Yamalla is an OC but has a very little section of the story to work in so don't be turned off by her! Unbeta'd

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><p>There was chaos on the beach. Mountains had never worked so hard against him, Spain thought in despair. England was around, he knew it, felt her poisonous form writhing through his mind, but he couldn't find her!<p>

He hadn't seen her with his own eyes, true, but he was a Nation. He knew. Add that to the sudden disappearance of some crucial items and he was absolutely positive she was lurking somewhere close.

But he couldn't find her. Every tent had been searched, the shore, the sky, the trees, everything. All but the mountains that now stared at him menacingly. The massive rocks were left to search but how could they? How could they presume to search an entire mountain range for one girl and be successful?

He growled, knocking over some golden heirloom or something. He didn't care, there were thousands of such items lying around. What he cared about was not so shiny, not so obvious to the eyes of the uneducated, and it was _stolen._

England had _stolen_ his map.

"Mon ami," France danced his fingers up the side of his neck, "calm yourself. She is either traveling through the mountains, in which case, it is impossible to find her until she so choices," He paused, letting the tension linger in the air.

Spain was uncomfortably reminded of his friend and ally's penchant for playing with the emotions around him. France continued leisurely, playing with wisps of Spain's long curls, "Or…she is waiting along the coast. You must consider dear England's dislike of land, how much more she desires the ocean. It's far more likely of her to slither around the coast until she has an opportune moment to slip back to her no doubt waiting ship."

Spain took a deep breath, "And what exactly are you suggesting?"

France's sultry laugh curled into his mind, "Nothing darling. I suggest nothing, I simply exist to give what insight I can to glorious nations such as yourself."

And this is the exact moment Spain knew, with a doubt, that France was playing a game. France did not offer advice underscored with flattery unless he was after something. The fair haired nations were nothing if not cunning and devious, he thought with a surge of pain.

France took his sweet time feeding him information and arranging his feelings until Spain was fooled into making a move in France's favor, all the while truly thinking and believing it was best for his own interest.

And England…Dios Mios, Spain couldn't even begin to list the number of times that little island had played the fox with him. It was too painful to think about.

Sometimes, Spain swore he could feel his power slipping away. He shook off France's deceiving hands and looked out at the glorious sea stretched before him. No matter. It simply made him more determined to keep his position at the top.

"The ocean _is _beautiful, amigo." He commented carelessly, graciously accepting the ocean spray kisses on his heated face. "I cannot blame her for wanting to spend her days on it."

"Perhaps it would be better for all of us if she were to spend the rest of her days _in _it." France purred, coming up behind him again. Evidently, he could feel no shame and harbored no ill will, because he continued massaging Spain's tense muscles without a care in the world.

Spain laughed, happy to think of England at the bottom of the ocean where she so belonged. But wishing won't get him anywhere, he sternly reminded himself, and he needed to find her.

He sighed. It appeared even when he was aware of France's web he would walk right into it. But what else could he do? Look through the mountains? "Let's search the coast again." he said glumly, hyperaware of everything that could possibly go wrong. Spain growled to himself, he needed to put those thoughts from his mind and return to the powerful confidence of a top nation! This girl wouldn't beat him out in the end. He wouldn't allow it. "Go gather all my crew to search the sea edge again, except a small group to be sent to the mountains." He ordered in as strong of a voice as he could, "I won't leave my back completely undefended." For all Spain knew, the island was leading an army of mass proportions back to destroy him. Not that she could, he told himself fiercely.

"Of course, right away." France smiled as innocently as he could and left him. Spain looked at the ocean again, face twisting into disgust. Once upon a time, he thought it only shone for him. The ocean welcomed him in her arms, whispering declarations of love and devotion.

A shame that England seemed to hear the same whispers.

The water seemed more like a traitorous lover than anything now. Spain pulled himself together, turned to leave, and almost ran into France.

"I thought we could walk together. I've assigned the group to the mountains and the rest of the crew is assembling." He said, and Spain fell into step with him. "You are a good friend," Spain admitted reluctantly, "and I am thankful to have you as my ally."

"As I am to have you," France smiled. "I just wish I could erase that look on your face, I am unaccustomed to seeing you this way." "Well—" Spain was shushed immediately, France putting out a hand to stop him.

"Do you hire les femmes?" France asked breathlessly. "Of course not," Spain scoffed, looking at what France had stopped him to stare at. A young man dressed like all the others, covered in grime. He rolled his eyes, France _would _stop him to ask if some boy was female or not.

"Look, look!" France urged, "Do you see what I see?" Spain tried but all he saw was a dirty sailor following orders. "I do not think I am seeing whatever you are seeing." He answered doubtfully.

"¡Perdón!" France yelled, in Spanish oddly enough, startling Spain badly. The boy turned to face them and that's when France lunged, throwing himself at the young man. That's also when Spain realized that the little jolt of surprise he felt when France yelled was really no big deal compared to the near heart attack he had now.

France had just attacked one of his sailors! Spain started toward them to free the young man when he heard a sound that stopped his racing heart. "¡Socorro!" cried the young boy….in a surprisingly feminine voice.

So, he _was _really a she. Still, France had no right to attack one under Spain's control. He was too busy trying to understand the series of confusing events that had led him to this moment to hear the artificial Spanish tang in the girl's voice.

"France! Unhand her at once! You cannot attack my…." Spain trailed off, feeling the human part of him shrivel in fear when a pistol pointed itself between his eyes.

It wouldn't kill him, not permanently, but the idea of death was repulsive to every instinct he possessed nonetheless. "I suggest you have your crony unhand me at once," England proposed softly from under France's restraining arms. "before your pretty face is split in half."

France laughed as much as he could with such short breath, "You certainly have some nerve, chérie, you must know how entirely surrounded you are?" "Then let me go, Frog." She growled, "Since it is hopeless. It will be a cheerful game for you big strong men to let me believe I will escape while you lasso me in."

"It does sound like a beautiful game, though perhaps better suited to a bedroom." France purred, dragging his tongue along her neck with apparent relish. She sneered, breathless from her struggles, and cocked her gun, which, Spain did not fail to notice, had not wavered throughout this entire conversation.

"Make him release me now, Spain," She cautioned, "or feel the bite of my bullet. I can tell you from personal experience that it is not pleasant." Ah yes, Spain allowed his mind to wander for a moment, back to the particular victorious memory she was referencing.

A single shot and she had fallen, bloody and broken, back into the ocean where she belonged. It did indeed look painful and he had no desire to feel it. But he had made a conscious decision to act more like his old self. If he couldn't follow his own orders, how could he expect anyone else to?

"You make a valid point, England, however, I think I'll take my chances." He decided, lunging on her as well. She shrieked and pulled the trigger, missing Spain by a mere hair. He winced at the blast from her smoking gun and helped France curb her. England, leverage effectively gone, threw her head back and ignored the pain in favor of listening to the sweet crunch of the Frog's nose.

He yelled in pain, almost as loud as Spain when she clubbed him with the end of her pistol. She elbowed France desperately, hoping to loosen his hold. Goddamn, she thought, of course he would have a demon's grip! How else would he hold his nightly prey down?

Spain added to the squeeze around her, crushing her ribs far more than any corset had ever dared. She screamed into France's ear and latched onto his well bred cheekbones with her teeth, digging in as hard as she could. And then, suddenly, the pressure around her lessened.

Spain held fast, true, but France had gotten his priorities in order and was protecting his face against England's vengeful jaw. She kicked at Spain, aimed at hurting his ribs like he hurt hers and wheezed triumphantly when her heels connected solidly with his stomach. He let out a big gust of air and then, he too, let her go.

She had been waiting. The second Spain unclenched his fingers, she sprang up and sprinted through the gathering crew, ignoring the alarmed yells behind her as she dodged crew members, knocking over artifacts left and right.

There was a practiced ease to her sloppy run for the sea, this was not her first time nor would it be her last to make an escape such as this. Spain and France, however, were just as practiced at this point at chasing after England as she was at running away and were in hot pursuit.

England put her powerful legs to work and was far in front of them when she caught sight of the ocean and paused. She could still feel adrenaline rushing through her veins but it suddenly seemed unimportant in the face of the water. It had faded like the sound of shouting as you ran away. She was more captivated than she'd ever been by the waves. Walking slowly, she peered over the rock ledge. The ocean called to her powerfully.

She could hear Spain and France get closer, could sense with an animal instinct she'd never truly let go of that they were quickly gaining. Yet she couldn't tear herself away from the water.

It was lovely, she thought dazedly, so beautiful. So accepting and loving. France and Spain were roughly a second from the throwing themselves at England when a dark figure stepped in between them.

Had they been pressed, they would have realized that there were no trees around for this person to have stepped out of. Distracted as they were, they didn't notice anything suspicious about the figure other than its unfortunate blockage of England.

"Stop!" It ordered and, without meaning to, Spain and France stopping moving. They could tell by the voice that it was _another _woman. Where the hell were all these women coming from! England had not looked away from the ocean. She did not appear to notice anything happening around her.

"You shameful nations all battle with each other so much." The hooded woman grumbled. She had an accent. An accent from where, neither France nor Spain knew, but it was warm and crumbled together in an uncivilized way. It was from a savage land, that much was certain. "You must work together or you will fall." She warned.

France sneered at her, "I believe it is the other way around, madam." "You believe incorrectly." She snapped. "I know! I have _seen_ it. It will happen."

Spain scoffed, "Nations cannot all work together. Especially not us." He gestured from himself and France to England. "The Fates will make you see their way." She smiled, teeth whiter than France expected for a savage. Or perhaps her teeth seemed so white in contrast to the shadow on her face.

"The Fates sound like Pagan Gods." Spain forced out between clenched teeth, "And as such cannot tamper with the lives of humans. Only the Almighty God may do that."

She waved her hand dismissively, "You may call them whatever you like. The fact remains, if you do not work together willingly, you will be compelled by them."

France opened his mouth to condemn her soul when a streak of light ran across the sky. The woman smiled at the beam, "Ah. They have spoken. It appears they wish to give you all you ever wanted." "What is that supposed to even mean?" France growled, fingers itching to be around England's neck.

England, who still hadn't turned from the blue. "Feel the power of the Fates rush through your immortal veins." The woman intoned, holding out her hands.

Spain then felt a very acute fear. Only a couple thousand years ago, his people had believed in such barbaric gods as well. He suddenly remembered how intensely he had believed in their power. "Put your hands down!" He ordered frantically. "Put them down right now! Stop!"

"Feel your every dream come true." Her voice rang darkly through the camp. "Stop!" Spain yelled. "Please!" France stood, staring at her with wide blue eyes. He hadn't seen Spain's faith waver in a very long time. France had always secretly thought he was a sinner; he enjoyed the perks of life too much for religion. Perhaps this was God's response to his loose life style? Light began to emerge from her outline. Soon, nothing but white filled their vision.

The ocean is so beautiful, England thought dreamily.


	2. The Hangover

Unbeta'd and yes, there was some attempt at Spanish and French here. It was minimal, don't worry. Also, I know France actually won lots of things but let's ignore that, shall we?

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><p>Spain awoke to the sound of seagulls and the ocean's ebb and flow. France, somewhere to the right of him, groaned softly and shifted.<p>

The sun, Spain shielded his watering eyes, the sun burned so badly. Painfully, he pushed himself up and opened his eyes, the heat searing and predominant.

"¿Qué pasa?" he covered his eyes, finding himself and France to be on what seemed to be one of many islands, all clustered together.

His crew was nowhere to be seen. Spain staggered to his feet, kicked at France to wake him and stumbled down to the water's edge, plopping down in water up to his shoulders. A second later, curses greeted him as France joined him.

"What happened?" France asked, squinting in the bright light. "A couple bad bottles of liquor?" Spain suggested, shrugging his shoulders.

For the moment, he was less interested in finding out what had happened and more interested in finding out how to make his headache go away. "Is that England?" France asked, effectively destroying any hope Spain had at making his head stop pounding.

He looked up and sure enough, there she was, floating aimlessly in the water, as unconscious as they had been. They sat and watched her limp form. Perhaps she'd drown in some freak state of vulnerability. Spain sighed, one could only hope.

"Not quite as gentlemanly as I'd hoped." The woman said from the island. Spain and France shot up and stared at her. Where had she come from? She stood calmly on the land, looking at them with a small smile. She didn't actually look like they'd disappointed her, Spain had a feeling she'd expected immediate violence. So in a way, they'd quite impressed her. "There lays a damsel in distress, and yet, neither of you spring to her aid." She observed, long black hair twisting from under her hood to dance with the breeze. "That will change by the end."

France regained his breath first, "She is hardly what one would call a damsel and she puts us in far more distress than she ever seems to be in." The woman laughed, "I guessed you would say as much. Regardless, I believe now would be a good time for Alice to wake." Spain noticed sourly that she never disputed France's words. There were few people in this world who could honestly say they believed England to be seriously troubled by other Nations. Not anymore. She's made it very clear that she's done with that part of her life.

A groan sounded from England's limp form, and the woman called out to her, "Alice, you need to breath. Breath in."

England, of course, immediately responded. When you are in a particularly odd situation with no idea of how you got there or what to do, you tend to listen to the first person you hear from and so England inhaled as much as she could.

Since she was face down in the ocean, she received a lung full of water. France and Spain watched from afar as England obviously took in a great deal of salt water and waited for the inevitably coughing. It never came. The male nations watched as England sat up, wet hair shining, and tried to steady herself. Then they watched the water in her lungs stream harmlessly out newly formed slits on her neck.

"What devilment is this?" breathed France. England had acquired gills.

She moaned and looked around with unfocused green orbs. "Yamalla?" she called hesitantly, voice rough. She shielded her eyes from the burning sun, squinting into the distance. "Alice dear," the woman responded, "I hope you feel well."

Why were they on a first name basis? Nations did not like to be referred to by their human name and yet, this dark woman was perfectly comfortable calling England Alice. Even odder, England had yet to correct her. Spain felt his expression harden, there were rumors of England dabbling in witchcraft but he'd never seen it before with his own eyes.

This woman was clearly a devil worshipper and England was—she was on friendly terms with her. It was terrifying for so many reasons, was this why she was rising so quickly? "Where am I? Did we go sailing again?" England looked confused but relaxed, at home with this savage woman, until she set sights on France and Spain. "What the hell is this?" She asked in the same low tone Spain would rather die than admit frightened and aroused him.

Spain couldn't deny that power had always been attractive to him, even power artificially inflated from a tremendous ego.

The woman—Yamalla, smiled, "Oh honey, calm down. I am helping you, you will see." She said, shaking a finger at England. "Your help never seems to actually help me." England replied sharply, "What are these two doing here?"

France couldn't help but notice how well England was taking the enormous headache she must have woken up with, if Spain's and his own were anything to go by. She must be used to waking up in strange places with a pounding head and no recollection of getting there. How dainty and ladylike of her.

"The same as you, dear." Yamalla answered. The savage looked serene and mischievous, a seemingly impossible combination. She getting a perverse pleasure from this, laughing at them inside her mind, and was completely peaceful.

She continued, "I think you'll find that very soon you will depend on each other."

She held up a hand at England narrowed eyes and set mouth, "Look inside yourselves," she urged, teeth blindingly white in the hot sun, "you will feel something. _You will_."

"I doubt offhand attraction is what you're looking for, and yet, it's all I'm finding." England sneered, trying to stand in the fluorescent water.

Spain felt his mouth drop open. France felt faint, translucent surprise. He knew something of sexual tension and, unfortunately for Nations, it was usually worked out through war instead of through a dance between sheets as it should have been.

England had always been gusty; she'd never exactly confirmed to the socially acceptable for a manand she hadn't _ever_ confirmed to the role of a proper lady.

She was too rough, too proud, too eager to cut and tear at others. France thought she was beautiful.

Spain thought she was insane. If he looked deeper, he found in the depths of his soul a desperate need for the attention of England. He wanted her. He thought he wanted her to kill her but he'd never know until he had his hands on her.

Not, of course, that he wanted to find out. He would have continued upon that train of thought had England stood up and charged Yamalla as she intended…but she didn't.

A fin cannot support a human the way legs can.

England toppled back into the water, a flash of iridescent green showing itself. England sat up again, eyes wide and frantic, "Yamalla, what did you do to me?" she yelled, trying to stand again.

Again she fell. "What the hell did you do to me?" she screamed. "I'm helping you." Yamalla answered.

England lifted a fin out of the water.

Spain and France stared at her. This must be a dream. England looked at the fin, hesitantly reaching for it. She was slowly shaking her head in denial. Slender fingers with the power to end worlds touched cool scales. She screamed.

"What did you do to her?" France shouted, half starting towards England. He stopped short, face betraying just how scared he was. At this point, he couldn't even say if it was for her and because of her. But if he had to guess, he would say it was because of her.

Usually when fear and England were combined, it was him being afraid of her. "I'm helping her. I'm helping all of you." Yamalla repeated. Spain stayed where he was, unsure which direction would be safest to run screaming.

England looked like she was losing her mind. Spain felt like he could relate. Perhaps this was how Yamalla was helping? She was helping them relate by ruining their brains all at the same time?

Suddenly it was quiet. England had stopped screaming, France had stopped yelling, and Spain was pretty sure he had stopped breathing.

It was the strangest scene he'd ever been in. There was a beautiful island, cerulean water, a joyful sun. All poisoned by black magic and fear. A nightmare in paradise.

"Why," England started, voice broken and wavering, soft like he'd never heard it, "why would you turn me into a _bloody fish_?" Yamalla looked almost sad at this point. "Alice. I am _helping_ you."

"How are you helping me?" she asked angrily, "By ruining my nation's future? Because that's all I see you doing! How can I help my country when I am a goddamn mermaid?" she roared, lips parting and showing the ferocious fangs all mermaids hid in their pretty mouths.

This is when France should run away. If he was smart, he'd turn tail and go back to Spain right this instant, he told himself, almost paralyzed with fear. Instead, he unlocked his knees as best he could, and started towards England again.

This must be why he never seemed to win anything, he mused to himself. England, seeing movement out of the corner of her eye, turned to France.

He froze when she looked at him, pretty face curled into a snarl. Now would also be a good time to turn around, his fear told him.

He moved forward again. It's really not that bad, he lied to himself, she's not that terrifying. She looks the same, simply with fangs. And a tail. And man eating tendencies. Not that different at all.

France swallowed thickly. "Frog." England looked testy, "What are you doing?" He was near enough to touch her and did so carefully, crouching down and laying his fingertips hesitantly on her shoulder.

England wasn't quite sure how to feel about this. He…he definitely was beautiful. For a Frenchman. Then again, in certain circles, that simply made it even more of a compliment. She stared into blue eyes.

"I'm comforting you." He told her, feeling his blood turn to rusted metal. "You're insane too!" Spain yelled at him. Yamalla laughed at the tanned nation, "You will stop fighting one another. You should be glad the Fates saw it fit to grant you a wish at the same time."

"A wish?" Spain asked incredulously, "What wish am I being granted?" "You want power. Francis wants Alice hindered. Alice wants the ocean. I am giving it to you all." Silence again, and again, it was broken by England.

"You want me hindered?" she growled at France. He laughed nervously, "Ma chérie, I cannot believe it has taken this long for you to figure that out." "I'll kill you!" She roared, lunging for him with the deadly speed of an underwater creature.

"You made her worse!" France yelled, falling on his ass and barely missing England's claws through a stroke of luck, "This is not hindering her! This is giving her strength!" Just like that, France's brave and comforting mood was gone. "England now holds your loyalty, and you must help her find her humanity to be released." Yamalla spoke over them.

"If I have to rely on them to be human," England hissed, rising out of the ocean, tail whipping in anger, "I'm as good as stuck! Why are you doing this?"

"And why does England have so much power?" Spain asked, fire in his eyes. "She is corrupt and will doubtlessly abuse us." France added hurriedly, heart rate tripling.

"Work together and you will be given help along the way." Yamalla called over them, "Work against and you will be thrown back. It is your choice how long the journey lasts."

And she disappeared, leaving a furious mermaid, a soaked Frenchman, and a bewildered Spaniard in her wake.


	3. The Search

Okay so first, I want to say sorry that it took me so long to post. And second I want to say sorry because I didn't edit this very much. I figured that I just needed to get myself in gear and crank it out because I was having a lot of trouble with this one for some reason. I'll go back and edit it more later but for now, here it is in all its messy glamour. :) Thanks to all the people that reviewed, it means a lot to me :)

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><p>England grumbled to herself, slipping in and out of the translucent water smoothly. France thought she was adjusting rather well to her new body, all things considered. But then again, the girl, France tried not to think of the terrible things England would do to him if she ever heard him refer to her as a "girl," had practically been born in the water. It had been her refuge from her brothers, he'd heard. From the humans as well.<p>

In his section of the ocean, they flocked from all corners to enjoy his waves. Not hers. Her ocean was dark and unforgiving, farther out into the wilderness that people instinctively knew to fear, and full nasty surprises. But it was all she had and, as she'd proven again and again, she learned to love it. How could she not, when it was so different from all her other experiences with people, Nation and human alike?

The ocean never left her. It was reliable. And when she was driven out of her land by raging barbarians, the ocean was there to keep her safe, tucking her deep beneath swelling waters. True, there was no one else there but England had learned long ago that it was better that way. Easier to be alone.

When she began her steady rise, Nations had wanted to come. They had asked to spend time with her, in her steady, reliable, frigid waves. She had said no. England didn't want their help. She knew how to strike out alone and preferred it. Offering cheap help when she had so clearly risen above it all by herself was a slap in the face; and she made sure to return the favor when she denied their requests.

A small exclamation of surprise brought France back. England was looking down, eyes wide, mouth open. "What?" Spain asked testily. What on earth could be more surprising to her than being turned into a mermaid? Hadn't she used up her supply of surprise for the day? "Hold your tongue." She replied pleasantly, still staring into the water. A moment of utter stillness from the Nations as the light trees swayed in the gentle breeze. Then, England dove suddenly, flashing them the emerald lace of scales as she turned.

"¡Dios Mios!" Spain jumped, unnerved by her marine movements through the calm blue. She was so _fast._ Granted, she'd been fast before. It was one of the biggest things she had going for her. She was wiry and tough, exceptionally strong for someone of her size but so were the other countries. They wouldn't be major countries if they weren't all strong. And she was female. In pure brute strength, an adult female wasn't going to be stronger than an adult male. Nations or not, they are only so different from humans. Where her power really lay was her speed. If she could get in five punches in the time Spain or France got off two, and she could, they were pretty much even in the hurt department.

Before, her speed had been irritatingly quick and reminded Spain of a rabbit. Now, she reminded him more of the wind in a thunder strong raging so hard the droplets of rain sliced into your skin. Primal and deadly. She popped her head back up with the same startling quickness and smiled warmly at what seemed to be tiny brown rocks in her hand. Spain and France shared a look, eyebrows raised. They'd certainly never found rocks particularly interesting but—"They're oysters, you fools." She interjected, scowling at them.

Oh. Well, oysters were significantly more interesting than rocks, considering they hadn't eaten since before all three of them had legs. "We're right above a bed of them. It's old too, and I don't think anyone's found it before." France leaned over and glanced at the water, frowning. Yes, he believed that no one had found it before. He couldn't see the damn thing at all and he'd just been told where to look. He'd never experienced such deceptively clear ocean before.

Spain frowned as well, "This doesn't mean we've struck gold. How do we know these are edible?" England rolled her eyes, that were faintly glowing, Spain noticed slowly. It was subtle enough that you could almost miss it if you didn't look close. Mermaids were rumored to become more fantastical on the hunt. The more violent the situation the more they departed from reality to bathe in the darkness of the next world. A simple sign of that was the glowing of eyes, like an animal glanced in the dark.

Or so he'd heard. Rumors were simply that: rumors. And it wasn't like there were many who lived to tell the tale when they encountered a mermaid searching for food. This was hardly violent and could barely be counted as hunting. Oysters didn't run away, they weren't something you spilled blood over. They were something you harvested by plucking them out of the water. Did this mean England was sensitive? Or did it mean bloodlust corrupted her so thoroughly, she found taking another life, even as small as this, satisfying?

His thoughts were interrupted when France palmed him through his loose pants. Spain wasn't quite sure how to react to this new development and in the end, decided confused staring was best. "I'm searching for a knife." France explained sweetly, blue eyes twinkling happily. "To open the oysters, you see." "Oh," Spain said, "that makes sense. Continue on, then." France then very distinctly felt an oyster collide with his skull. "You idiots! Stop wasting my time!" England hissed.

"I am looking for a knife." France informed her, snootily. Another oyster went flying, "We don't need a knife." She growled. "If we don't use a knife what will—" France sneered, only to trail off when England took her clawed hands and savagely tore the animal open. "Jackass." She muttered to herself, eyes glowing just a bit brighter, and tossed the mass of live flesh into her jaws.

She chewed and swallowed quickly, making a face when it was finally down. Raw oysters. Ugh. She'd already spent far too much of her life swallowing these slimy bastards and something told her she wasn't going to get much else for awhile.

"What are you doing?" Spain asked shrilly, "We have no idea if those are safe!" "Well, we will soon enough, won't we? We are Nations. I promise you," she looked at him, an eyebrow raised just high enough to doubt everything about him from his clothing to his honor, "we won't die from inedible oysters."

"She's impossible." Spain grumbled as he tore down plants growing in his path. He and France were scouting the island, searching for anything they could use to create a boat. England may have sprouted a fin but they still needed a way to travel across the ocean.

Unfortunately, there were hardly any usable materials on this godforsaken spit of land, which meant they had to fall back on the kind of scavenging they hadn't relied on for centuries. It was strangely humbling, Spain thought as he picked through the thick growth to fins something, anything, they could use.

England, the one who probably would have been best at this, was confined to the ocean and couldn't even help them. Spain growled to himself, even he could figure out that this wasn't her fault but that didn't make him any happier trolling the land while she played in the water.

An exclamation of surprise and then he could hear France crashing through the plants. "Spain! Hurry!" he called before turning tail and crashing away. Half of his brain plainly told him that what France found was probably so vine or sturdy wood that, while helpful, wouldn't be running away and there was no need to hurry.

The other half of brain however, quickly supplied his mind with an image of a tree making a break for it and soon enough, he was sprinting through the island as well. When he finally caught up with France, he took a look around. They were in a small clearing with a line of trees in front of them, shielding them from view. France crouched on his heels and peered through the leaves to star at something, motioning with his hand for Spain to come quick. Spain had definitely seen this side of France before and he could guess what was on the other side of these trees. He should turn around right now and return to searching for items. It was only decent.

But what was one small look? He went to his knees and moved the leaves as quietly as he could until he could see her. England's top half sunned itself above the water while she combed through her hair. It was rather messy after all, and she had to soak it or it would dry in it's wind blown position. Of course, this meant that she had to shift and move around and in doing so, she confirmed a thought that had been lingering in the back of Spain's mind and parading loudly in the front of France's. Mermaids were not depicted as wearing clothing. It appeared England was no different.

Spain felt his mouth dry rapidly as she danced through the water, rinsing her shining hair again and again. She…she was very pale. And pink. Very pink. This was the last thought he had before his mind slowly sputtered to a stop and England turned her head and shrieked bloody murder.


	4. SORRY EVERYONE NOT A CHAPTER

Hey guys (if anyone is still here)!

Ok, so I won't lie to you and say I've been super busy because I haven't, I just got lazy and apparently decided that what I really wanted to do was become one of those people that started a story and then stopped writing it because lalala wouldn't that be fun?

So.

I recognize that I suck, again, and I really do apologize because I know how much I hate it when I get into a story (which I hope you do with mine) and then the writer just doesn't log in for months or, worse yet, never continues it. Therefore, I am here to inform any who care to know that I **WILL** be continuing this story. I am in school now but I always find a few hours to procrastinate anyways so I now will dedicate that special time in my day where I do nothing to writing.

I won't be updating everyday unless I am just on a goddamn roll in order to avoid posting pure garbage. I really hope someone somewhere is still interested because I am certainly still interested in this and I feel very very very guilty that I haven't been on in so long.

Thanks for reading (and not killing me through the internet)

p.s. I also never wanted to become one of those people that pretended to post a chapter but really it was all just information but I figured this was the lesser of two evils. SORRY AGAIN.


	5. The Argument

Yo homies! Where my playas at? Cough. I'm sorry, that was uncalled for. Anyways, here I am. Back from the depths of my couch/school where I have been wasting away. Hopefully you all see this and read it and like it :) I've been rereading this again and again because I really wanted to get this out but it's gotten to the point where now everything sounds weird to me so I had to stop. If all goes well, it only sounds weird to me and not to you guys. I tried some minimal French but, again, it's nothing major. It's the same French that everyone who writes Hetalia fanfiction uses, I promise. Unbeta'd.

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><p>"I can't believe you." England muttered for the thousandth time, staring at them accusingly. "Why can't you?" France asked her easily, sitting on wet sand and seemingly unconcerned about the wounds he'd acquired. Spain, on the other hand, was keeping his distance from her.<p>

He'd been incredibly surprised by the fight she'd managed to put up from the water, shrieking and throwing whatever she had close to her. He grimaced, he'd gotten a fat lip from a rock flung in his direction but it was nowhere near the damage France had put up with when he slipped and landed in the water. Shallow water, mind you, but that didn't stop England from sinking her claws into his collar and trying to drag him to the depths.

She hadn't succeeded; mermaids were better equipped to take down their prey in deep water and France was very well equipped to escape an angry woman's clutches, but in the end, she got what she wanted, a very bloody France. It reminded Spain rather horribly of another time he had badly underestimated England.

She had been discovered stealing artifacts from the Spanish Empire and, with no weapons in sight, she ran. Spain had given chase and tackled her, holding her down as he waited for the other soldiers to catch up with him; confident that she was finally going to be captured. He was significantly less confident when she pulled a pistol from his own belt and beat him over the head until he let go.

By the time his men found him, she was gone and Spain was still struggling to focus his eyes. It was painful to think about even now, he grimaced, how easily he fell into her traps. Running after her so they would be alone, getting close enough that she could put her pickpocket skills to use, and then being unable to stand the pain long enough. It was depressing to think of all her maliciously correct calculations about him.

It was a special skill of hers, the ability to correctly judge how a person would act and then twist it to her advantage. Not to say that other Nations couldn't do this, but she was different. She put them all to shame with her disturbingly accurate predictions. And yet, Spain sighed, he seemed to be the only Nation worried about her and her witchcraft.

France had dealt with her games longer than anyone else; anyone else _alive_, Spain reminded himself, thinking of Rome and crossing himself unconsciously. Yet, after a brutal beating at her hands, the blue eyed nation still lay, not two feet from her, and had a casual conversation wherein she accused him of something of which he was clearly guilty. Spain didn't think he'd ever seen France more relaxed and for the life of his people, he just couldn't understand it.

Didn't he fear her?

Apparently not. "Perhaps I can't believe it because some part of me believed there was a shred of decency left in your souls." England growled in answer, flexing her hands threateningly, "I can see I was wrong." "You hold our souls, cher, shouldn't you know more about them than anyone?"

"Shouldn't you be working to make a boat?" she shot back, entirely irritated with this whole situation. "It's more difficult than it looks." France sat up and argued, if there was one thing he would defend about himself it's that he is not lazy without good reason.

He had a perfectly good reason for deciding a glance of England's pink nipples was a better use of his time than boat materials. Looking for boat materials was difficult and when had he ever had to make a boat before? Exactly never.

Or long enough ago that he had practically been a different person and_ had_ been a different country. France came from a civilized place where wood was cut down, taken away, and when it came back, it had mysteriously transformed into a boat. None of this foraging for himself nonsense.

England growled at him again, "You're completely useless!" "And you're completely topless," he gave her a sad look, "We all have our problems, mon ami. Why don't we hug it out until something comes to mind?" he asked, holding out his arms invitingly.

She scoffed, only at the last moment strangling the urge to toss her hair over her shoulder, and sneered, "I'd get on my knees for Spain before I'd willingly touch you, Frog." Spain interrupted them before they could continue and his fantasies could get more pronounced, "Why don't we just make the boat?" he forced between gritted teeth.

What a piece of work he was, Spain thought bitterly, a few vaguely suggestive words from the island girl and he gets excited, forgetting all the cruelty she ever showed him. He ignored the whispers in the back of his mind telling him England's words were hardly vague. "I agree," England crossed her arms and glared at them both, "the sooner this is all over and done with, the better."

"But how can we make the boat?" France asked, lounging in the sun. "It is too difficult—" England cut him off and snapped, "Do you ever stop whining and use your bloody brain? Shut up. I don't want to hear your voice. My God, I have to do everything." Before either of them could say anything, England's tone changed. It became commanding and strong, much stronger than before.

France got the distinct impression they were getting front row seats to her Captain personality. Interesting. He'd always wondered what she was like when she ravaged his merchant ships. "Spain, go get those trees and pull as many branches down as you can. They should be of medium thickness and still young enough that they can bend. Get as many as possible because they will make up most of the boat. You'll have to bend them to make the shape of a boat, but not too hard or they'll snap."

"Use that vine there," she pointed to a high hanging vine, "to tie it all together, especially the ends. Pay the most attention to the ends or the whole thing will fall apart and I'm sure you've both experienced that enough times to want to avoid it."

Spain looked close at her then, because his first thought was that it was a jab at them. That they experienced falling off their makeshift boats into the water because their navies were broken and battered by England's pirates. His second thought was that she was completely serious. He heard no malice behind her words and she hadn't even paused, giving the words no more importance than any of the others.

When England insulted, she made sure you knew it. She hadn't been insulting this time. She simply thought it was a normal experience in every Nation's life to haphazardly slap together a boat. I cannot understand this girl, Spain thought, guilt latching on immediately for admitting defeat, even in the privacy of his thoughts. Slowly, he realized England was still talking.

"When that's done you want to leave it in the sun so it'll dry and then place leaves inside to cover the gaps in between branches. Oh, and you'll need two ores to direct the boat. I'd use that type of tree," she pointed to a thick, smooth tree this time that looked sturdy, "just make sure to break it at an angle. I'm sure we all know why that's important." She added, rolling her eyes.

Spain and France gaped at her. She shouldn't know how to do this! This was new for all of them, wasn't it? "How do you know that?" Spain demanded, ignoring both the cowardly shaking in the back recesses of his brain and the soft echo of his cracking empire he had begun hearing at all times more than a year ago.

"Haven't you ever been stranded on a deserted island before?" she asked, narrowing her emerald eyes. It's like they were children, honestly. For countries older than herself, it never seemed like they knew more of the world than she did. If anything, England had always rather thought she'd seen more of it than they ever would.

After all, some things couldn't be explained to the rich boys who stood before her. To truly know, some things had to be seen. Some things had to be done. And she was beginning to believe they hadn't seen or done anything in their translucent successful pasts. This was all common knowledge as far as she was concerned.

Spain looked as though he was two minutes away from exploding, though in the anger he used to possess or frustration deep enough to cause tears, France couldn't quite tell. He sighed, rolling on his stomach to dig in the sand with his fingers. France had no desire to enter this conversation.

He could tell already, this was way out of his league and, to be perfectly frank, he didn't know why it was so crucial they all question each other. There was a beautiful, wet woman, conveniently already naked, in their grasp and here they were, arguing about boats.

"No! Why would I have been stranded on a deserted island before?" Spain yelled. "Come now, you must have some experience with pirates." She said, looking completely unimpressed with his anger. "Pirates." He sneered, "Of course I do. _Your_ pirates."

"Why don't you do yourself a favor," England suggested sweetly, poison shining through her words like jewels poking through the sand, "and quit letting your mouth run away from you. One day, that'll get you into trouble. And your precious Catholic _king_ won't be around the save you."

"Let's go get the branches." France cut in, sapphire irises flashing back and forth between them. "You will repent. If it's before Satan or the Almighty is your decision." Spain growled, showing his teeth. England snarled right back, as unafraid as she never should have been. "It will help soothe our minds and ready for the long journey if we do it together." France added with a desperate sort of cheer.

"My friend," Spain laid a calloused hand on France's shoulder, chocolate glare drilling a hole between England's eyes, "Of course. _Anything for you_." He added, as though to injure England with his words. She had felt it as well, France noted, as her pretty mouth twisted unpleasantly. Well. At the moment, he would take what he could get, even at the expense of England. "Perfect." He purred, steering Spain towards the tress once more.

There was a tone of alliance in Spain's voice and it was best to remove that before their journey started.

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><p>Thanks for reading!<p>

(btw. anyone been watching Man, Woman, Wild? Yes? No? Anyone? Let me know~)


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